My name is Azka. I am 26 years old.
I am a scenario writer at Max Production, a rising game development company in downtown Jakarta.
Don't imagine me as a novelist sitting in an aesthetic cafe sipping latte. No. My reality is the glare of the monitor burning my retinas, and stacks of cheap coffee cans that fuel me to stay alive.
I'm just an ordinary guy you might see on the train during rush hour: tired-looking, thick-rimmed glasses, and a slightly hunched back from sitting too long.
But that morning, my boring routine was different.
The office atmosphere was unusual. Managers were running around in a panic, cleaning staff were polishing the floors until they were slippery, and our big boss—Mr. Hendra—was wearing his best suit, which he rarely took out of the closet.
Rumors spread quickly via the group chat: We were expecting a major foreign investor. Apparently, this investor represented a giant entertainment company that was looking for a local studio for an ambitious project.
At that moment, I didn't care. My eyes were still glued to the screen, my fingers dancing on the keyboard, finishing the monthly update script for the company's old RPG game. I was writing the description for the "Magic Sword" item. But my calm was disturbed by someone's presence.
"Azka! Stop typing!" exclaimed Mr. Hendra, breathing heavily. "Come with me to the meeting room. Now."
"But sir, the deadline for the item description—"
"Forget the item! You've been summoned."
Confused, I dragged my feet to the meeting room. There, three men in neat black suits were sitting. In the middle, a foreign man with blond hair stared at me intently.
They placed a thick document on the table.
"We are looking for a lead writer," said the foreign man in fluent but stiff Indonesian. "We have money. We have technology. But we need a story that will sell."
He presented the basic premise of the project.
I glanced at it and was quite surprised by the idea.
A Duke's son who is a genius with a sword, adventuring with an innocent Saintess to seal the Demon King and save the world.
I refrained from snorting.
"This... This is very classic," I commented honestly, ignoring Mr. Hendra's elbow nudging me to be polite. "Standard romantic fantasy. Typical web novels scattered across the internet. The cold Duke's son melts for the cheerful Saintess. Then they live happily ever after."
"Is that bad?" asked the investor.
"It's not bad. It's just too safe. The market will definitely love it," I replied flatly. "But the market also gets bored quickly. If you want this game to explode, you can't just give them sugar. You have to give them a little poison."
The room fell silent.
"Explain," the investor challenged.
My brain worked quickly. As someone who spent half his life reading fantasy novels and the other half writing story scripts, I knew what was missing from this premise. Conflict. Tragedy. Destruction.
"I am interested in leading this project," I said, sitting up straight. "But on one condition: no creative interference from management. Let me write this world according to my vision."
Mr. Hendra looked like he was about to faint at my audacity, but the investor just smiled slightly. "Continue."
"We'll change the title. Not something heroic and cheap like this. We'll use a subtle title that no one can guess: 'When Darkness Comes for Us'."
I grabbed a marker, stood in front of the glass whiteboard, and began sketching out the character outlines.
"The focus remains on the Duke's Son and the Saintess. But we'll add one disruptive variable that often appears in fantasy web novels online. A variable that will make the players emotional."
I drew a large red circle next to the Saintess character.
"A Villainess," I explained. "A proud, evil noblewoman who hates the Saintess. At the beginning of the story, she's just a cheap nuisance. But as the story progresses, we'll create a plot twist where the Villainess is a vessel for a figure who will destroy the world."
"So, the players will fight the Villainess at the end of the story?" asked the investor with interest.
"That's right, that format is very popular right now," I replied. "Then, I plan to set the story in an academy."
The investor fell silent, then clapped softly. His smile widened, as if he saw a gold mine before his eyes.
"That's a very interesting vision, Mr. Azka. If I may, could you add some tragic elements to the story?"
I nodded, "I can do that. That's why I'm asking for complete freedom in my story so I can have more control over the character development."
He stood up and shook my hand. His grip was firm and cold.
"We want this game to be a Gacha RPG with Live Service. We want this game to last for five years. Create a long script, a vast world, and countless characters."
"You have complete freedom, Young Man. Write the destiny of that world as you please."
At that moment, I felt like I had won the lottery. I, Azka the new writer, was finally given the main stage. I felt like a god who would create my own world.
I didn't know.
Truly, I didn't know. That handshake wasn't the beginning of my success.
***
Three years have passed since that handshake.
The investor's prediction was correct. The game titled "When Darkness Comes for Us" exploded onto the market. It was not only a local success, but a global one. Our servers in Japan, Korea, China, and even America were always packed. Internet forums were flooded with fan theories, character fan art, and debates about which route was the best.
But that success came at a high price.
The gacha game industry is brutally competitive. Competitors release new games every month with crazier graphics. To stay relevant, management demanded unreasonable content updates. New stories every two weeks. New characters every month. Major events every season.
As the Lead Writer, I suffered the most.
I decided to work from home not because I wanted to relax, but because I practically lived in front of the computer for 20 hours a day. My apartment turned into a cave filled with piles of trash and energy drink cans.
I managed to create a massive world. Five continents. Two great empires. Five magic academies. Three underground criminal factions. And over fifty types of monsters. Everything is detailed, everything is interconnected in a complex narrative web.
However, in the third year, cracks began to appear.
The community forum became toxic.
"The story is getting more and more convoluted!"
"Why are all the girls attached to the Protagonist?!"
"There are too many mysteries! When will they be revealed?!"
I read those comments with sore eyes. They didn't know how difficult it was to maintain the story's consistency when management kept forcing me to add new female characters just for gacha sales, ruining the plot I had carefully crafted.
And ironically? I, the writer of this game, didn't even have time to play my own game. I just wrote, wrote, and wrote. I was blind to how my script was translated into actual gameplay.
Then, that day came.
A brief email arrived from the Central Investor. No negotiation. No discussion.
[CONTRACT TERMINATION NOTICE] Reason: Creative vision differences. We need a lighter, faster-paced story direction to attract new markets.
I stared at the screen in silence. Three years of my life. My sweat. My blood. Thrown away just because they wanted a "lighter" story?
With hands trembling from anger and exhaustion, I did one thing I hadn't done in three years.
I downloaded the game. I logged in.
I wanted to see how shattered the world they took from me had become.
However, when the loading screen finished and I entered the game world, I sensed something was wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
The graphics were beautiful, the music was grand. But... the character interactions felt off.
The NPCs I wrote seemed to stare at the screen with a terrifying gaze. The dialogues that appeared on the screen felt different. It was as if these characters weren't reciting a script, but talking to themselves.
The world I created seemed alive.
I played it for twelve hours straight. My eyes were red, my head throbbed as if it had been hit with a hammer.
The longer I played, the more inconsistencies I found. There were characters who should have been dead but were still alive. There were factions that should have been friends but were at war instead.
It was as if there was another "Writer" who was changing my script in real time.
"What the hell is this..." I muttered, clutching my chest, which felt tight.
I closed the game and opened an old folder on my computer. The folder contained the "Original Script" before it was messed up by management.
I scrolled down, looking for the root of the problem. And my eyes stopped at a footnote I had written at the beginning of development. A crazy idea I wrote while drunk on coffee, then forgot.
Seraphina Vox Winters. Villainess. She would become the Vessel for the Outer God. And she would be the key to destroying the entire world.
My heart stopped beating for a moment.
In the game I had just played. The protagonist seemed to have strayed from his main goal. Random events forced by management had destroyed the original route.
"No way..."
Suddenly, an excruciating pain struck my chest. Far more painful than before. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my heart until it burst.
My breath caught. My vision narrowed to a black spot.
I tried to reach for the glass of water, but my hand had no strength. My body collapsed onto the cold floor covered in script papers.
The humming sound of the monitor grew fainter.
I realized what was happening. It seemed—I had died from overwork. My body had finally given up.
In the final moments, before total darkness swallowed my consciousness, one regret flashed through my mind. I hadn't had time to write the happy ending.
*****
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